


instabae

by ichigoday



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (more like teammates to lovers), Birthday Fluff, Confessions, First Dates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-24 19:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichigoday/pseuds/ichigoday
Summary: Kiyoomi was never one for social media. The idea of broadcasting his life online never appealed to him; he found it too superficial and inane, and he saw how it fueled the insecurities and envy in those around him. But then Motoya convinces him to start posting on Instagram, and with each picture he takes, he falls more in love with the city of Osaka—and a certain blond-haired setter.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 120





	instabae

**Author's Note:**

> title can be read as english (insta + bae) or japanese (インスタ映え/ _instabae_ means 'instagrammable')
> 
> aka my excuse to write a skts going on cute dates around osaka🥰 disclaimer: i haven’t been to all of the places mentioned, so some descriptions may be slightly off. don't think too hard about it.
> 
> edit: made some edits to the spacing bc it was bothering me. also check out the fic post on twitter for author notes/pics from my trip to osaka that i used for reference!

“Ugh, can you believe this!?” Motoya holds his phone with the screen facing out at Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi squints at the Instagram post, which shows Suna sitting in Osamu’s lap while they feed each other onigiri. The EJP Raijins had arrived in Osaka yesterday to play against the Black Jackals, and after the game, they all gathered at Onigiri Miya for dinner and drinks. The two teams crowded the cozy restaurant to the brim, and with Kiyoomi secluded in a corner, he managed to avoid witnessing the events that had transpired in the picture. Today, Kiyoomi and Motoya had decided to meet up for breakfast at a Denny’s near Kiyoomi’s apartment before Motoya’s due to head back to Tokyo with the rest of his team.

“What about it?” It’s no secret that Suna and Osamu are dating—have been for years. Even Kiyoomi is aware of it despite his inactivity on social media.

“They’re disgusting!” Motoya groans with an exaggerated gag. “Valentine’s Day was weeks ago, but I’m still seeing these gross couple pics all over my feed. Hell, couples I don’t even know or care about are taking over my Discover!”

“And yet you click on them anyway,” Kiyoomi points out. “Isn’t that just going to tell the algorithm to continue showing you more?”

Motoya has no comeback, so he just pouts and sullenly stuffs another strip of bacon into his mouth.

Not long after joining the Black Jackals, Kiyoomi had been coerced into making his Instagram account so that he could be tagged in their team’s official photos. He followed his friends, family, and teammates, more out of obligation than anything, but he kept his account on private even though he hardly used the app. He didn't want to take any risks, now that he was somewhat in the public eye.

The constant feeling of being under scrutiny made Kiyoomi uncomfortable. He never felt the need to broadcast his life online, nor did he care about the mundane happenings that other people shared. He hated the superficiality, and he knew the potential harm it could do. He saw how it fueled the insecurities and envy in those around him (Motoya being a prime example), and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

“I wish I was more like you,” Motoya grumbles. “I know I shouldn’t let other couples bother me, but it sucks being single, especially around Valentine’s Day.”

 _Just get off Instagram_ , Kiyoomi wants to tell him, but before he can respond, Motoya’s eyes light up with a mischievous glint that Kiyoomi knows all too well.

“That’s it! Single people just need to post more.” He jabs a finger in Kiyoomi’s direction. “Like you.”

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow.

“Why me?”

“You’re happy with being single, right? So you should post about it! Couples are always flaunting their relationships on Instagram, but single people never flaunt… being single.”

“What would I even post?”

“Anything! Locker room selfies, sunsets, food, your OOTD, cool things you see around Osaka. You mentioned some stray cats hung around your apartment, didn’t you? You should post pictures of them!”

Kiyoomi occasionally saw the pair of cats—an orange tabby and a gray and white one—lurking around the side of his building. He’s never approached them himself, but he’s spotted the old man next door feeding them from time to time, so they seem friendly enough. He’s not sure how he feels about photographing cats that don’t belong to him, but he supposes one picture wouldn’t hurt. 

“And this would make you feel better?” 

Motoya nods vigorously.

“Fine,” Kiyoomi concedes with a sigh.

Sure enough, as Kiyoomi heads down the street to his apartment, the two cats are skulking around the shrubbery lining the block. They freeze when they see him approach, and he fully expects them to make a dash for it. Instead, they remain still and watch with unblinking eyes as he cautiously inches towards them in small, slow steps. Once he’s only a few feet away, he squats down so that he’s closer to their eye level.

The orange cat cocks its head inquisitively, but upon realizing that Kiyoomi has no treats or pets to offer, it turns its attention back to the gray cat and they tenderly rub their heads against each other. Kiyoomi pulls his phone out as quickly as he can, hoping he doesn’t startle the cats. Fortunately, they seem to have lost interest in him, so he manages to snap a quick burst of photos without so much as a glance from either of the cats. Once he’s made sure that at least one of the pictures is in focus, Kiyoomi stands up with a quiet grunt and pads towards the entrance of his building when he suddenly hears a quiet _mrow_ from behind.

“Hey, yer the super tall onii-san!” a cheery voice calls.

Kiyoomi flinches and feels his heart rate spike. Even after months of living in Osaka, he still hasn’t gotten used to the casual friendliness of the locals. He had managed to avoid lingering around his building long enough to not interact with any of his neighbors—until this very moment.

It’s all the cats’—no, Motoya’s fault.

“Hello,” he mumbles.

“You can pet ‘em if ya want,” the man says, gesturing to the cats who are affectionately circling around his ankles. “They don’t bite.”

“I—um, okay,” Kiyoomi stammers, even though he doesn’t really want to.

“If ya hold yer hand out, they’ll come right up to ya.” The man kneels down and extends a hand, and true to his words, the orange cat headbutts his knuckles and he scratches it behind the ears.

“This one’s Tecchan, and that one over there is Kiichan. They’re both female,” he says. “Why dontcha give it a try, nii-san?”

Kiyoomi gingerly holds a hand out, praying he won’t be going to practice tomorrow covered in scratches. To his surprise, the gray cat—Kiichan—walks up to him and gives his fingers a tentative sniff before tucking her head underneath his hand as if to direct him where to pet. Kiyoomi obliges, marveling at the velvety softness of her fur beneath his fingertips, and then she starts _purring_ and Kiyoomi can’t help the quiet gasp that escapes his lips.

Surely the cats, like the people, must be friendlier in Osaka.

“She likes ya,” the man chuckles. “Say, ya ain't from around here, are ya? I saw ya the day ya moved in, but ya looked busy ‘n I never got a chance t’ say hi.”

“I moved here from Tokyo.”

“Well, it’s a bit late now, but welcome t’ Osaka!” The man grins broadly. “I’m Takizawa, but most people call me Taki.”

“Sakusa.”

“Nice t’ finally meet ya, Sakusa-kun!” Taki says. “Y’know, yer kinda like a cat yerself. Thought you were kinda mysterious, but yer not so bad.”

“Uh, thank you?” Kiyoomi’s not really sure how to respond to that.

“Anyway, I’m part of the local neighborhood committee, so feel free t’ ask me anythin’ yer not sure about!”

Kiyoomi releases a deep breath once he steps into the elevator, relieved for the interaction to be over. When he enters his apartment, he makes a beeline for the kitchen sink and thoroughly soaps and scrubs his hands for a full thirty seconds. Once he’s done, he grabs his phone and scrolls through the recently taken pictures. He picks out the one with the least blur, plays around with the brightness and contrast on Instagram, and then he taps on the ‘Post’ button without bothering to write a caption.

The response is almost instantaneous. He receives his first notification within seconds, before he can even close the app.

_sunarin0125 liked your post._

_komomoto10 liked your post._

Kiyoomi snorts. Leave it to Suna to be the first person. The Raijins should be on the train back to Tokyo right about now, so they’ve got time on their hands.

_ninjash0y0 liked your post._

_ninjash0y0 commented: omg omi-san ar ethose your cats!?? they’re sooo cute!!_

Kiyoomi is already exhausted.

* * *

The Black Jackals have the day after a game off, so the Miya twins are headed back to Amagasaki to belatedly celebrate Atsumu’s victory at their favorite neighborhood sushi restaurant with their parents. Osamu had insisted they play his music in return for driving, so Atsumu is stuck listening to Twice’s sugary sweet bops (and Osamu’s off-key singing). He reclines the seat back and settles into a comfortable position, unlocks his phone, and begins mindlessly scrolling through his Instagram feed. He double taps to like a picture of a pair of cats standing nose to nose and swipes to the next post. He follows a handful of cute animal Instagram accounts, so it’s not an unusual sight to see on his feed.

But something in the back of his mind tells him to do a double take, so he scrolls back up to discover that the picture wasn’t posted by _cats_of_instagram_ or _thedailykitten_ . It was posted by _MSBYSakusa_.

“Holy shit!” Atsumu shrieks, and Osamu nearly slams his foot on the brake.

“What the fuck, Tsumu! Don’t scare me like that!”

Sakusa, who begrudgingly made his account when he joined the team and never posted (to his feed _or_ story), just uploaded a picture of _two cats bumping noses_ as his first Instagram post.

Sakusa is undoubtedly a good player and a welcome addition to the Black Jackals. Atsumu can always trust Sakusa to hit his tosses with that ridiculous signature spin of his. But off the court, he’s a mystery, as tightlipped about his personal life online as he is in person. All Atsumu knows is that Sakusa had gone to a traditional four-year university after high school and had been named the collegiate MVP. Atsumu knows about as much as what the official Black Jackals’ site has listed in Sakusa’s profile.

Atsumu knows he shouldn’t let it bother him. They play well together on the court, and in the end, that’s all that really matters. They’re teammates—coworkers, essentially—and they get the job done.

It bothers him though.

There isn’t even a caption on the picture, which is so like Sakusa, but Atsumu can’t wrap his head around how unexpectedly adorable it is. _Is this what people call a moe gap? Did Sakusa’s account get hacked? Why did he decide to post this picture_ now _? Is he a cat person?_ Atsumu tries to imagine the circumstances that led to Sakusa taking the picture. He snorts at the image of Sakusa crouching down and angling his phone at the cats. Atsumu prefers dogs, but he doesn’t dislike cats either. He wouldn’t mind adopting a cat, if—

Atsumu’s brain comes to a screeching halt.

“Mornin’, Omi-kun! Didn’t know you were a cat person,” Atsumu casually comments as they head into the locker room. “Just t’ be sure, yer Instagram didn’t get hacked, did it?”

Kiyoomi scowls as he turns the dial on his lock with expert precision. This is exactly why he avoided social media in the first place. Even though there’s nothing inherently personal about the picture of the cats—they aren’t even _his_ cats—it opened up opportunities for people to strike up a conversation and ask prying questions. Kiyoomi wouldn’t mind as much if it was anyone else on the team. He and Atsumu play well together on the court, but he chalks it up to their volleyball expertise. He’s never been able to place his finger on it, but something about Atsumu grates against his nerves and he always finds himself walking away from their conversations feeling out of sorts.

“I wasn’t hacked,” he mutters. Part of him almost wishes he was. “And the cats aren’t mine.”

“So whose are they?”

“They’re strays, I guess,” he shrugs. “I see them around my building sometimes.”

Kiyoomi hopes his curt answers are enough to signal to Atsumu that he has no desire to continue engaging, but of course, Atsumu persists, as he always does. Sometimes Kiyoomi wonders if Atsumu is oblivious to social cues, or if he’s aware of them and intentionally chooses to be a pain in the ass.

“So why’d ya post all of a sudden after months of not usin’ Instagram?”

“Motoya asked me to,” Kiyoomi replies. “He said he was tired of seeing couples on his feed, so he wanted me to post more.”

“I know that feel,” Atsumu says with a sympathetic nod. “Sucks seein’ couples all happy ‘n shit when yer single. Ya saw that picture of my brother ‘n Suna? Blech. They’re the worst. Y’know, I wouldn’t mind seein’ more of yer pics either, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi’s hands freeze in the middle of unzipping his jacket as his brain slowly processes Atsumu’s words, devoid of his usual playful, teasing lilt. He’s not sure what’s more surprising, the fact that Atsumu is single or that he feels insecure about it. It’s at odds with the version of Atsumu that he’s familiar with, the one that’s all flashy smiles and cheeky taunts. For some inexplicable reason, Kiyoomi had assumed Atsumu was taken. It wouldn’t have been surprising; Atsumu is, objectively, stupidly attractive.

But then Kiyoomi thinks back to the past few months that they’ve been playing together and realizes that not once had Atsumu ever mentioned having a partner. Knowing Atsumu and his big mouth, if he was dating someone, everyone and their mothers would have known about it from day one.

Atsumu is _single_ , and Kiyoomi doesn’t know what to do with the information.

“O-okay. Sure,” he manages to stutter out.

Great. So now he has two people to post for.

* * *

_Locker room selfies, sunsets, food, your OOTD, cool things you see around Osaka…_

Motoya’s words nag at Kiyoomi’s brain with each passing day. The day after he posted the cat picture, he posted one of his small but growing collection of succulents sitting on his windowsill. It’s been nearly a week since then, and he’s already out of ideas for other things to take pictures of. He’s not comfortable with sharing pictures of himself, so selfies and OOTDs (he looked it up) are out of the question. Apart from his neighborhood and the area around their training center, Kiyoomi hasn’t felt the particular need to branch out to other parts of Osaka. He’s visited the city with his family in the past, so he’s already been to most of the tourist hotspots. He’s settled into a comfortable routine of shuffling back and forth between his apartment and practice. Not that he’s complaining about his routine, but it doesn’t exactly give him anything noteworthy to post on Instagram.

Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Atsumu.

“Omi-Omi,” he drawls. “Ya haven’t posted on Instagram recently. Gave up already?”

“I didn’t give up,” Kiyoomi counters. He’s already two posts in; there’s no way he’s leaving his account at that. “I just—I haven’t seen anything I want to take a picture of.”

“I think yer thinkin’ too hard. It’s not like yer an influencer. Post a picture of yer sneakers or somethin’.”

“My sneakers,” Kiyoomi deadpans.

“Hey, ‘m just tryna give ya ideas! Haven’t ya gone anywhere fun recently? What d’you even do on days off?”

“Chores. Errands.”

“Ugh, yer killin’ me. Ya moved all the way t’ Osaka and yer not even goin’ out?”

Kiyoomi glares at Atsumu, who goes silent for a moment, and Kiyoomi thinks that’s the end of it. He shuts his locker, pulls on a clean mask, and readies himself to leave.

“So, are ya free now?” Atsumu blurts out. His voice has that uncharacteristic, serious tone to it again, and just like the last time, it catches Kiyoomi off guard. Returning Atsumu’s jabs with blunt comebacks has become a reflex for Kiyoomi at this point, but in the rare moments that Atsumu strips away the gimmicks and cocky smirks, Kiyoomi is at a loss for how to respond.

“I am,” he answers eventually.

“That’s it! I’m takin’ ya to Tsuruhashi. Ever been?”

He hasn’t.

Tsuruhashi, Kiyoomi learns, is better known as Osaka’s Koreatown and the largest in all of Japan. Atsumu leads him towards the lavish entrance gate and gives him a moment to snap a quick picture. Then they head down the main street lined with kimchi stalls, fried chicken and barbecue restaurants, and stores selling K-pop merchandise and cosmetics. It’s a Thursday night, so the streets are far from empty, but it’s not crowded to the point that makes Kiyoomi want to instantly hightail it back to his apartment.

Atsumu chatters animatedly as they pass by the shops he’s familiar with (“My ma likes the radish kimchi from that place!” “That place has the best cold noodles!” “Samu’s a closet Twice fan—don’t tell ‘im I told ya,” he chuckles. “Bought ‘im a poster from that store one time!”), but his words barely register as Kiyoomi takes in the unfamiliar sights and sounds and smells of Tsuruhashi. He’s so distracted by everything that he doesn’t notice when Atsumu stops walking and nearly faceplants right into his back.

“We’re here!” Atsumu announces.

They’ve arrived at what appears to be a food stall. Or rather, a food court made up of assorted food stalls, after Kiyoomi takes a step back and gets a good look at the place.

“Betcha haven’t had a Korean cheese dog, have ya, Omi-kun?” Atsumu grins wickedly. 

He hasn’t.

Kiyoomi studies the menu, which displays a selection of corn dog variations filled with cheese. Some are coated in chunks of French fries, others in crushed ramen noodles. Meanwhile, Atsumu walks up to the ticket machine and slips in a thousand yen bill. He punches two of the buttons and the machine dispenses two small tickets along with his change. He then slides the tickets to the man behind the stall, who confirms the order. (“One cheddar sausage dog and one potato sausage dog!”)

“Um, I can pay you back,” Kiyoomi says, fumbling for his wallet.

“Don’t worry about it.” Atsumu waves a hand dismissively. “Actually, why don’t ya pay at the next place?”

The ‘next place’ turns out to be the bubble tea stall on the opposite side.

“Tell me you’ve at least had bubble tea, Omi-kun.”

He hasn’t.

When he says as much, Atsumu’s jaw drops and before Kiyoomi can get another word in, he marches up to the cashier and orders two black milk teas with tapioca and regular amounts of sugar and ice. A voice calling out to them from the other side lets them know that their cheese dogs are ready, so Kiyoomi pays for the bubble tea while Atsumu goes back over to pick up their food. He takes the red squeeze bottle sitting on the counter and adorns the cheese dogs with messy squiggles of ketchup. Kiyoomi grabs the drinks when they come out, and they head upstairs to the seating area.

Kiyoomi stares at the spread before him, unsure of where to begin. He’d gotten pulled into Atsumu’s dizzyingly fast pace and the past five minutes had been a whirlwind, to say the least.

“Omi-kun?” Atsumu chews his lip nervously. “Sorry I kinda got excited and went ahead and ordered without askin’ for yer input. I didn’t mean t’ ignore ya! Fuck, I didn’t ask if ya even liked corn dogs. Or milk tea. Wait, you don’t have any food allergies, do ya?”

Kiyoomi huffs a laugh as Atsumu groans and drops his head in his hands.

“No, I trust your choices,” he answers honestly. “I’ve never had any of this before so I wouldn’t have known what to order anyway. And I don’t have any food allergies.”

Atsumu perks up almost instantly, and the corner of Kiyoomi’s lips quirk up into a small smile. As he reaches for one of the bubble teas, Atsumu swats his hand away.

“Omi-kun, did ya forget why we came? Ya gotta take pictures first!”

Right. Kiyoomi pulls out his phone and opens up the camera, but then Atsumu interjects yet again.

“Hold on, Omi-kun! We gotta arrange it all nice like them food bloggers.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t think there’s any right way to arrange two cheese dogs and two cups of bubble tea, but he acquiesces and watches as Atsumu experimentally pushes the items into various spots on the table. His brows knit together in concentration and the tip of his tongue is poking out of the corner of his mouth as he works on finding the best possible placement for their food. A small part of Kiyoomi wants to stop him, tell him that the cheese dogs are getting cold and his Instagram account is private anyway, so he doesn’t really care about making his pictures all that nice.

But there’s a bigger part of him that enjoys seeing Atsumu like this, so he sits back and lets Atsumu continue fiddling with the food until he’s satisfied.

“There!” he says at last. The cheese dogs are parallel with each other, and the two drinks are lined up on the side. It’s not that drastic of an improvement, in Kiyoomi’s opinion, but he dutifully snaps a few pictures from different angles and then pockets his phone.

“I ordered one regular cheese dog and one with fries on the outside,” Atsumu says. “Which one d’you want?”

“I’m fine with either.”

“You can have the one with the fries then,” Atsumu decides, pushing it towards him. “Hey, it’s kinda like you! Prickly on the outside.”

Kiyoomi snorts as he lifts the cheese dog by the stick and takes a delicate bite from the tip. The cheese dogs had been piping hot when they came out of the fryer, and despite how long Atsumu took to position everything for the picture, they’re at the perfect temperature now. He chews contemplatively, savoring the contrast between the crispy fries on the exterior, the slightly sweet batter, the creamy melted cheddar, and finally, the juicy hot dog in the middle, laced with a hint of tanginess from the ketchup. He looks up to find Atsumu staring expectantly at him.

“Well? How is it, Omi-kun?”

“It’s good,” he answers, and Atsumu beams triumphantly before digging into his own cheese dog.

Kiyoomi takes one of the bubble teas and blinks in confusion. The top of the cup is sealed with a layer of plastic, but there doesn’t appear to be a tab or anything for him to peel the plastic back.

“Like this, Omi-kun.”

Atsumu unwraps a straw and smoothly jabs it into the center of his cup, piercing the plastic with a resounding pop. Kiyoomi holds the straw against the plastic and tries to push it through but it just makes a small dent.

“Ya gotta do it fast!” Atsumu laughs.

Kiyoomi huffs and tries to mimic what Atsumu had just shown him. He manages to get the straw through, though it’s not as centered as Atsumu’s.

“Make sure ya don’t choke on the balls, Omi-kun.”

 _That_ makes Kiyoomi choke, before he even takes a sip.

_Guess he’s not so bad after all_ , Atsumu thinks, watching with an amused look as Sakusa chews on the tapioca pearls with childlike wonder. It’s a nice change seeing him outside of practice. He still keeps his responses concise, but it’s the subtle differences—the way his shoulders relax when he leans back in his seat, the absence of the usual furrow in his brows—that say more than words ever could.

On their way back to the station, Atsumu feels a gentle tug on his sleeve and turns around. He wonders how such a small gesture can be so endearing coming from a broody 192-cm tall athlete.

“Miya,” Sakusa says quietly.

“Hm?”

“Can we… Do you mind if I go into this store?”

Atsumu blinks at the bundles of facial masks on sale and then peers inside the store, walls lined with more masks, lotions, hand creams, and various other skincare products.

“Ya wanna look at Korean skin stuff?” he asks.

“You can wait outside if you want.” A dusting of pink colors Sakusa’s cheeks. “I’ll be quick.”

“No, take yer time, Omi-kun! I’m just surprised yer into this stuff. Though I guess ya do have real nice skin.”

Sakusa’s blush deepens as he steps into the store. Atsumu examines the handwritten Japanese labels taped to the shelves; he recognizes the basics like sunscreen and hand cream, but then there’s cleansing oil, cleansing balm, cleansing cream, _and_ cleansing milk, and his head starts to spin. Why on earth were there so many different cleansing products and who would ever need this many?

“You use all this stuff, Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks. “What even is an am… ampoule?”

Sakusa snorts.

“It’s basically a serum,” he says, as if Atsumu knows what a serum is. “Those things are generally considered excessive, and I don’t like cluttering my bathroom so I keep my routine fairly simple. After I wash my face I use a toner and moisturizer and sunscreen in the mornings. Miya, you at least use a cleanser and moisturizer, right?”

“”Course I do! I’m not a brute.” Atsumu doesn’t mention that he only started using cleanser a few years ago after his first photoshoot for the Black Jackals. The makeup artist at the time asked him what he used on his skin, and needless to say, he was not prepared for the lecture he got in return when he said he simply splashed his face with water.

“What about sunscreen?”

“Uh… I use it when I go t’ the beach I guess?”

The way Sakusa’s eyes narrow at him makes him feel like he’s a student again and he’s just given the wrong answer in class.

“You should be using it everyday, Miya. What’s your skin type?”

“Skin… type?” Atsumu asks feebly, feeling very much out of his element.

Sakusa leans in all of a sudden, their faces mere centimeters apart as he studies Atsumu’s skin. Atsumu’s eyes latch onto the two distinct moles above the curve of Sakusa’s shapely eyebrow for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, Sakusa turns around to peruse a nearby shelf and Atsumu lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“I think you have normal to oily skin,” Sakusa informs him.

“Is that… bad?”

Sakusa huffs, but says nothing more as he continues to circle around the store. After some deliberation, he grabs a small, lip balm-sized tube and then a pale blue pump bottle and checks out at the register.

“So what’d ya get?” Atsumu asks once they’re outside.

“This is an under eye roller I wanted to try,” Sakusa explains, holding up the smaller tube. He sounds as unenthused as he usually does, but Atsumu can detect the faintest gleam of excitement in his eyes. “It’s supposed to reduce puffiness. I think the cooling sensation will help wake me up in the morning.”

Then he pulls out the other item and holds it out towards Atsumu.

“This is a sunscreen for you,” he mumbles. “It’s the same one I use. It’s like a watery gel, so it doesn’t feel heavy or greasy. Make sure you use it every morning, unless your skin has a bad reaction to it. I doubt it will though.”

“T-Thanks, Omi-kun. Ya didn’t hafta…”

“Take it as my token of thanks,” Sakusa says. “For bringing me here tonight.”

Later that night, Kiyoomi posts the picture of the cheese dogs and bubble tea to his Instagram, and he tags Atsumu in the caption as an afterthought. Judging from what he’s seen on his feed, it seems to be the proper etiquette.

Less than five minutes later, his phone is ringing—a call from Motoya. Kiyoomi keeps most of his correspondence to text; he only calls in emergencies or when he’s meeting up with someone, and Motoya knows this, so he figures it must be urgent (or a butt dial). With a resigned sigh, he slides his thumb across his phone to take the call.

“KIYOOMI!” Motoya yells. “I’m happy for you, but also how dare you!?”

Kiyoomi winces and holds the phone away from his ear. He turns on speaker phone for good measure and sets it on his bedside table.

“What are you talking about,” he grumbles. “The Instagram post? You know, the Koreatown in Tokyo has cheese dogs too if you want one so badly.”

“That’s not it! I can’t believe you went on a date with Miya Atsumu! I feel so betrayed,” Motoya whines. “And here I thought you were gonna be posting boring shit like your sneakers.”

 _What is it with the sneaker thing?_ Kiyoomi wonders. Wait. _What?_

“That wasn’t a… date.” Kiyoomi tries to not trip over the word ‘date’ like a shoujo manga protagonist. “He dragged me to Tsuruhashi after practice and we shared some food. That’s all. We’re just teammates.”

“Teammates,” Motoya repeats.

“What, am I not allowed to hang out with my teammates now?” Kiyoomi shoots back.

“You never hung out with any of them before. Not one-on-one.”

“Do you want me to say it was a date then?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know!” Motoya groans. “Ugh, forget you. I’m hanging up.”

After the call ends, Kiyoomi lets out an exasperated groan of his own and unceremoniously flops face down onto his bed. For a phone call that lasted all of one minute and twelve seconds, it left Kiyoomi feeling even more exhausted than at the end of practice.

Atsumu is laying in bed, catching up on his daily rounds of social media when a small notification pops up at the top of his phone.

_MSBYSakusa tagged you in 1 post._

He promptly taps on the notification, which opens up Instagram to Sakusa’s post. He chuckles at the slightly off-center positioning of the table in the frame. At least the food’s lined up nicely, all thanks to him. He’ll have to give Sakusa more pointers on angles next time. Then he notices that Sakusa’s actually written a caption for once.

 **MSBYSakusa** First cheese dog & bubble tea in Tsuruhashi with @tsumutsumu13.

Atsumu’s heart does _not_ do a small flip.

* * *

After the phone call with Motoya, Kiyoomi makes it a point to post pictures that don’t involve Atsumu. (Not that it matters. He and Atsumu are just teammates after all.) He opts for a more scenic jogging route that takes him out of his residential area and through a lush, spacious public park he hadn’t even known was mere minutes away from his apartment, in a direction he simply never bothered to explore before. The park gives him plenty of options; in the end, he decides to post a picture of their serene lotus pond. 

But then Atsumu invites him out again after practice (“so that you can take even better pictures for yer Instagram!”) and Kiyoomi can’t seem to come up with a good reason to refuse, so once again, he lets Atsumu lead him into the fray that is the city of Osaka.

Tonight, Atsumu takes him to Dotonbori. Kiyoomi distinctly remembers the barrage of flashing lights and billboards from the last time he visited with his family. The visual stimulation is overwhelming, so he focuses his attention instead on the canal lined with lanterns running down the heart of the neighborhood. To Atsumu’s credit, it does make for a nice photo.

As they make their way down the street, an arcade catches Atsumu’s eye and he pulls Kiyoomi by the arm towards the aisles upon aisles of claw machines. Kiyoomi can already feel the impending migraine before even stepping foot inside. He trails behind Atsumu who’s ogling the prizes like a kid in a candy store. 

Motoya used to drag Kiyoomi to the arcade back in high school; nine out of ten times it ended with Motoya walking away pouting and empty handed after using up nearly all of his allowance. Kiyoomi wasn’t one for gambling, and that’s all the claw machines were at the end of the day. Pure, dumb luck and a whole lot of cash down the drain.

“I’m gonna win somethin’ tonight,” Atsumu declares, feeding a thousand yen bill into the change machine.

“You’re throwing your money away, Miya,” Kiyoomi says with a pointed roll of his eyes.

“Have you even played one of these before?”

He hasn’t.

“What’s the point if you’re going to lose?”

“The thrill of the chase!” There’s a twinkle in Atsumu’s eye. “How d’you know yer gonna lose if ya don’t even try? Learn t’ live a little, Omi-Omi!”

They’re slowly making their way down the rows of machines filled with various knick-knacks, stuffed animals, and anime merchandise when, out of nowhere, Atsumu comes to an abrupt halt.

“Oh my god, this one!” he screeches excitedly.

The machine of his choice is filled with dozens of yellow fox plushies with beady eyes and brown-tipped ears and paws. There are several variations—some laying down with closed eyes, others holding a leaf or a lucky charm—but there’s no question which one Atsumu has his eyes on: the fox holding up a small rice ball in one of its paws.

Kiyoomi can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips. Atsumu takes a second to circle around the machine and assess the position of the toy from different angles. “Omi-kun, go t’ the side for me and tell me if I’m too forward or back?”

“Ugh, fine,” he grumbles, but there’s no malice in his voice as he walks over to the side of the machine. 

At first glance, it seems like it’d be an easy grab. The toy is close to the center of the machine, so it’s definitely within the range of the claw’s motion. The first thing Atsunu needs to do is aim the claw precisely above the toy to isolate it from the others piled around it. That he can do with Kiyoomi’s help. The bigger challenge is making sure the claw maintains its hold after grabbing the toy. Atsumu is all too familiar with the false sense of security when the claw takes hold of the prize, only for its grip to weaken and the toy to fall from its grasp.

Atsumu slips the coins into the slot, starting the 60-second timer. He moves the claw to the right in one smooth motion, then inches it back with small movements.

“How’s it look, Omi-kun?”

“A little further,” he replies.

Atsumu gives the joystick a slight push.

“Okay, stop,” Kiyoomi says.

Atsumu pushes the drop button and watches the claw expand as it approaches the fox’s head. The instant the claw closes, he begins rapidly tapping the button, a force of habit after he’d heard that it (sometimes) kept the claw tightly closed. They watch with bated breath as the claw lifts the toy from the pile… but the swinging motion jostles it from the claw’s grip, and the fox tumbles back down to rejoin its brethren.

“Fuck, it was so close!” Atsumu groans. Now the toy is even farther from the machine’s opening.

“Give it up, Miya,” Kiyoomi says.

“No way!” Atsumu pushes in two more hundred yen coins without hesitation. “I’m not leavin’ til I get this damn thing!”

His next attempt grazes the ear but the claw closes too early and barely nudges the toy.

“You know, it might be cheaper to just buy the toy instead of—”

“Yeah, but where’s the satisfaction in that?” Atsumu laughs, putting in the coins for his third try.

“Do I have to tell your brother that you have a gambling problem?” Kiyoomi asks.

“What’re ya, our ma?” Atsumu jokes. “Besides, if Samu was here, he’d be tryin’ to get the toy before me.”

This time, Atsumu manages to get the claw all the way around the fox’s head. It falls down again, but now it’s right next to the opening.

“I’m gonna get it fer sure this time!” he insists. “It’s right next to the hole! It just needs t’ move over a tiny bit.”

Kiyoomi stifles a laugh as Atsumu inserts another two coins into the slot. Kiyoomi doesn’t see himself getting into claw machines any time soon, but he can’t deny that it’s endearing watching Atsumu try so hard to win a stuffed toy.

“Omi-kun?” Atsumu says, snapping Kiyoomi out of his brief reverie. He quickly looks up at the machine and examines the location of the claw.

“It’s… a little too far back,” he answers. “Go forward a little.”

Atsumu lightly pulls the joystick forward.

“How ‘bout now?”

“A little more—okay.”

Atsumu presses the button and they watch in silence as the claw slowly drops down and takes hold of the toy, lifting it up. Time seems to slow down to a crawl as the claw slides over—with the toy still in tow—and then it opens, dropping the toy down the chute.

Kiyoomi lets out a sigh of relief as the machine flashes and serenades them with a victorious fanfare.

“We did it, Omi-kun!” Atsumu cheers. He grabs the fox from the bottom of the machine and then wraps his arms around Kiyoomi in a triumphant hug.

“It was pretty much all you,” Kiyoomi mutters.

“Congratulations, sir!” a voice pipes up. “Would you like a bag for that?”

Kiyoomi jerks apart from Atsumu. Where did the employee come from? Had she been watching them the entire time? Kiyoomi silently curses at himself for dropping his guard and losing awareness of his surroundings.

“Sure!” Atsumu grins, still riding the high from his win. He plops the fox inside the bag and then thrusts it into Kiyoomi’s arms without any preamble.

“What the hell, Miya?”

“It’s fer you!” Atsumu says.

“You won it with your money.”

“Take it in return fer the sunscreen,” Atsumu insists. “I bet yer apartment’s pretty bare, no offense.”

“I have house plants,” Kiyoomi says defensively. “And everything I need to live.”

“Just take it, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu sing-songs, turning around before Kiyoomi can hand the toy back to him. “Think of it as me when you cuddle it to sleep tonight.”

“Wh—don’t be stupid,” Kiyoomi mutters. “Like hell I’m going to do that.”

Atsumu simply laughs as he heads towards the exit.

When Kiyoomi gets home, he pulls the stuffed fox out of the plastic bag and sets it on his coffee table. He grabs a disinfectant spray and mists the outside of the toy before wiping it dry with a paper towel.

Kiyoomi hasn’t gotten a stuffed animal since he was in elementary school. As cute as they were, they served no purpose other than to collect dust and take up space. He holds up the fox and stares into its beady black eyes. Then he tosses it onto his bed and watches with grim delight as it lands face down.

 _“Ow, Omi-kun, that hurt!”_ he can practically hear Atsumu whine.

Kiyoomi snaps a picture and sends it to Atsumu.

> **[From: Miya]** omi-omi, are you abusin’ our son!?
> 
> [To: Miya] What the fuck you weirdo, he’s not our son.
> 
> **[From: Miya]** atsumu #2 then
> 
> [To: Miya] #2 is a fitting name for a little piece of shit.
> 
> **[From: Miya]** hey don’t talk about our son like that!!

Later that night, Kiyoomi is laying in bed awake, hyper conscious of the stuffed fox next to him. It’s silly; it’s not alive or anything and yet it looms over him as he tries to fall asleep.

“ _Think of it as me when you cuddle it to sleep tonight.”_

Kiyoomi is a grown ass twenty-three year old. He’s _not_ going to cuddle a stuffed animal to sleep, much less think of it as a replacement for a certain blond-haired setter. He lightly punches the fox in the snout and snorts. Then a sudden pang of guilt creeps into his chest as if he had punched the real Atsumu.

 _Don’t be ridiculous, Kiyoomi_ , he chastises himself. _It’s just a toy._

After minutes of tossing and turning, Kiyoomi lets out a sigh of defeat and curls his arm around the plush fox, holding it snug against his chest.

That night, he gets the most restful, dreamless sleep he’s had in weeks.

* * *

“Omi-san, Omi-san!” Hinata chirps.

Kiyoomi wordlessly arches an eyebrow and Hinata visibly shrinks back. It’s not like Kiyoomi is purposely _trying_ to be intimidating; he can’t help that Hinata’s as skittish as a rodent around him.

“What is it?” he asks warily. Atsumu had left an hour early since he promised to help Osamu out at the shop, and the rest of practice felt off-kilter in the absence of their setter. Kiyoomi just wants to go home and take a nice long soak in his bath to soothe his aching legs.

“I-I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the meat bun shop with me! I like their regular pork bun best, but they have other ones if you don’t like pork!” Hinata babbles nervously. “Curry, red bean, custard—oh, they have these pink cherry blossom buns this month ‘cause… y’know…”

Kiyoomi stares at Hinata, waiting for a catch. Hinata’s never invited him anywhere before. Maybe he lost a bet with someone on the team and they dared him to invite Kiyoomi out. Or Hinata forgot his wallet and wanted Kiyoomi to pay for him. More plausible, but still odd considering Hinata is closer to literally everyone else on the team.

“You want me to get meat buns with you,” Kiyoomi repeats.

“Y-yeah! Do you like ‘em, Omi-san?”

“They’re fine,” he shrugs. “But why me?”

“N-no reason!” Hinata stammers. “I was just thinking about how we’ve never hung out together outside of practice a-and I felt like getting meat buns so I thought I’d invite you to come along!”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at Hinata, who fidgets and avoids meeting his gaze. Something is definitely up.

“If you don’t tell me the real reason, I’m not going with you,” he says pointedly.

“Okay, but promise you won’t get mad at me?” Hinata says in a small voice that somehow makes Kiyoomi feel like _he’s_ the bad guy here. “I wanted to be on your Instagram.”

“My… Instagram?”

“You’ve been posting a lot more lately, but you only ever tag Atsumu-san, and I dunno, I guess wanted to be featured on your Instagram too,” Hinata grins sheepishly.

Kiyoomi huffs a laugh, feeling silly and even a bit guilty for suspecting worse from Hinata.

“Fine, I’ll go with you,” he says, and Hinata’s eyes sparkle like he’s come down to a tree full of presents on Christmas morning.

That night, Kiyoomi posts a picture of his meat bun and Hinata becomes the second person he’s ever tagged on Instagram.

* * *

Atsumu is glad to see Sakusa bonding with another teammate, he really is. Shoyo’s infectious energy was bound to get through that prickly exterior eventually. Atsumu chuckles at the image of Sakusa and Shoyo—polar opposites of each other—getting meat buns together.

But something else gnaws at Atsumu and makes the pit of his stomach curl. It’s not like he and Sakusa were ever exclusive. They aren’t even dating, for that matter. Shoyo’s fun to be with, and as odd of a combination as they are, there’s nothing inherently wrong with Sakusa hanging out with Shoyo, or anyone else on the team, for that matter.

So why does Atsumu want to be the only person Sakusa mentions on Instagram?

Atsumu goes to practice the next day still feeling unsettled. His tosses are noticeably less precise than usual, and after he nearly takes out Thomas with a less-than-precise serve, he excuses himself to run a lap outside in an attempt to clear his head. It’s still early in the day and he doesn’t want to tire himself out just yet, so he jogs at a leisurely pace, taking in the cool March breeze against his skin and the sight of the powder pink buds starting to appear on the trees.

Last week Atsumu purposely invited Sakusa to Dotonbori on a weeknight to avoid the throes of people, locals and tourists alike, who crowd the shopping district on weekends. Sakusa hadn’t complained, but Atsumu wonders if they should go somewhere further away from the metro area next time.

“Miya,” Sakusa says. “You’ve been out of it today. Are you coming down with something? You look a little red.”

“‘m fine,” Atsumu grumbles. “Actually, y’know what would make me feel better?”

“What?”

“If we got dinner at the Indian place down the street. Ya ever been? Their naan is _huge_ ,” Atsumu grins, holding his hands nearly shoulder width apart. His mouth waters at the mere thought of their butter chicken.

“Sorry, Miya, I can’t,” Sakusa replies. “My mother and sister are in town so I won’t be free after practice for the next few days.”

Atsumu cocks his head. Huh, so Sakusa has a sister. His mind unhelpfully conjures an image of Sakusa with longer hair and perky—

He shakes his head to dispel the intrusive thoughts, though he makes a mental note to ask about his sister later.

“But why’re they visiting now? We don’t have an upcomin’ game… do we?”

“They wanted to celebrate my birthday with me here in Osaka,” Sakusa shrugs. “I told them they didn’t have to, but they insisted. I’m pretty sure they just wanted the excuse to travel.”

“Gotcha, I’ll just take a rain ch—wait, your _birthday_!?” Atsumu squawks. He furrows his brows as he mentally recites Sakusa’s profile from their website. _Sakusa Kiyoomi, Outside Hitter, Birthplace: Tokyo, Birth date: March 20th, Height: 192.3 cm, Weight: 80.2 kg._

_March 20th._

“Tsumu, I appreciate ya helpin’ me close up shop but I’m pretty sure yer eatin’ more than yer worth,” Osamu chides.

“‘m a professional athlete.” Atsumu takes an extra large scoop of rice, all while maintaining eye contact, just to spite his brother. “I need my fuel.”

Osamu rolls his eyes.

“Y’know, you’ve been comin’ here almost every day this week,” he says. “No date night with yer ‘Omi-Omi’?”

“They… We ain’t like that!” Atsumu sputters, heat rising in his cheeks.

“Sakusa, huh?” Osamu teases, pointedly ignoring Atsumu. He can tell when Atsumu has a crush from a mile away. “Didn’t think he was yer type. So what d’you like about ‘im?”

“Like!?”

The misshapen ball of rice falls from Atsumu’s hands as all the feelings he tried to tamp down over the past few weeks come violently rushing up to the surface. He thinks back to when they went to Tsuruhashi and how adorable Sakusa looked trying new foods for the first time, how intently he pored over the shelves of the skincare shop and bought him the sunscreen that he’s been obediently using (almost) every morning. He thinks back to how Sakusa patiently stood by him at the arcade as he kept trying and trying to win the toy.

He thinks about the thrill that runs through him every time Sakusa hits one of his tosses and the distinct slam the ball makes when it lands on the other side of the court. He swears it sounds different from the other guys’ spikes—it’s gotta be the nasty spin Sakusa puts on them.

He thinks about all the ways Sakusa smiles without actually smiling, and he thinks about how he wants to make Sakusa smile for real one of these days.

“I like Omi-kun,” he whispers incredulously, as if he somehow can’t believe it himself. “Holy shit, Samu. I actually like Omi-kun.”

“Congrats, loser,” Osamu deadpans. “Finish eating already so we can clean up.”

On the day of Kiyoomi’s birthday, his mother and sister drag him out to Umeda to treat him to a shopping spree, which inevitably turns into a shopping spree for themselves. They hop from mall to mall, department store to department store, thrusting stacks of clothes into his arms and shooing him into dressing rooms. He finally catches a break when his mother and sister all but sprint into Zara, where he knows they’ll spend a good half hour if not more. He plops down on the nearest bench with a groan and checks his phone for the first time that day.

His first unread text is from Motoya wishing him a happy birthday, followed by messages from his father and brother apologizing for not being with him this weekend and promising they’ll be at his next game. They’re both doctors, so working weekends isn’t an uncommon occurrence for them.

Then, a new notification pops up.

> **[From: Miya]** happy birthday omi-kun! 🎉🎉🎉 hey we’re the same age now  
> hope you’re havin fun w your ma & sis

Atsumu hadn’t been expecting such a quick response. His heart races when he sees the dots appear, indicating that Sakusa was typing.

> **[From: Omi-Omi]** Thanks, Miya.  
> I’m waiting for them to finish trying on clothes, and then we’re going to get dinner.
> 
> [To: Omi-Omi] geez, don’t sound too excited now lol
> 
> **[From: Omi-Omi]** I’d rather be hanging out with you.

Atsumu nearly drops his phone on his face. He reads Sakusa’s text and then reads it again just for good measure, warmth blooming in his chest.

> [To: Omi-Omi] me too, omi-kun
> 
> hey, are ya free on monday? coach gave us the day off
> 
> **[From: Omi-Omi]** I am.

* * *

On their next rest day, Kiyoomi finds himself on the train to the Osaka Aquarium. Both Kiyoomi and Atsumu had visited the massive aquarium with their families when they were younger, but it had been long enough that their memories of it were fuzzy.

The first thing Kiyoomi photographs is the statue of the whale shark outside of the aquarium. Its mouth is open, inviting visitors to stick their heads inside for an entertaining photo op. It’s unrealistic of course; a whale shark would never swallow a person whole, Kiyoomi muses to himself. It doesn’t even look true to size. But Atsumu rushes towards the statue with the energy of a kid in a toy store, promptly bends over, and sticks his head inside the shark’s gaping mouth.

“Take my picture, Omi-kun!” Atsumu’s muffled voice echoes inside the hollow statue.

Kiyoomi snorts to himself and obliges, making sure to stand far enough to fit the entire statue in the frame.

Once they get their tickets, they walk through the glass tunnel that leads into the main part of the aquarium. Atsumu stares wide eyed at the schools of fish swimming overhead. They’re surrounded on all sides by the tank, and it’s as unsettling as it is fascinating, a chilling reminder of just how vast and mysterious the oceans are.

The first section of the aquarium features semi aquatic birds and mammals. Kiyoomi lingers at one of the enclosures, mesmerized by an otter preciously scrubbing its face with its paws.

“You would like the otters, Omi-kun,” Atsumu laughs. “They know how t’ keep clean.”

“They need to keep their fur groomed to maintain insulation,” Kiyoomi says matter-of-factly.

They make their way past the sea lions and penguins and head towards the centerpiece of the aquarium—the enormous tank that houses a pair of whale sharks and a myriad of other fish and sea creatures.

“Whoa,” Atsumu breathes.

Kiyoomi studies Atsumu, face so close the tip of his nose nearly touches the glass. His lips are parted in awe and his eyes are sparkling, illuminated by the blue glow of the tank.

 _Shit_ , Kiyoomi realizes. _This is a date._

“Touch pools!” Atsumu exclaims gleefully, pulling Kiyoomi by the wrist.

There’s a large shallow tank in the center of the room with mostly children and their parents crowding around the perimeter. Inside the tank are an assortment of starfish, small sharks, and rays leisurely swimming in loops. Kiyoomi winces as a toddler lets out a piercing shriek that escalates into full on sobbing.

“I’m not touching those,” he says faintly.

“C’mon! I’ll do it with ya,” Atsumu eggs. They wash their hands at the sinks against the wall, and once a family of three leaves, they take the vacated spot at the edge of the tank. Atsumu rolls up the sleeve of his right arm and plunges his hand into the tank. He shudders when his fingertips brush against the top of a ray but he keeps his hand inside and gingerly pokes at its soft body a few more times before it decides to move on.

Kiyoomi’s face visibly pales.

“It’s not so bad once ya get used to it,” Atsumu grins. A small shark swims by next and Atsumu eagerly reaches out and runs his hand along the length of its body as it passes them.

Kiyoomi keeps his head turned away as he tentatively dips his fingers into the water. Slowly, he lets his hand sink and wiggles his fingers, until he brushes against something hard and bumpy and yanks his hand out with an undignified yelp, splashing both him and Atsumu.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu giggles. “That was my hand, ya goof.”

Kiyoomi’s face burns with embarrassment.

“Here, I’ll help ya.”

Atsumu takes Kiyoomi’s hand and guides it back into the water. As a ray approaches, Atsumu gently leads his hand towards it. Kiyoomi tenses, ready to withdraw at any moment, but Atsumu’s firm hold keeps his hand in place.

“It’s okay, Omi-kun,” he murmurs reassuringly. “It’s not gonna hurt ya.”

Kiyoomi exhales and lets Atsumu continue to move his hand for him. The instant his fingers make contact with the ray’s fluttering fin, he flinches.

“See, yer doin’ it,” Atsumu says.

It’s rubbery and freakishly soft and unlike anything Kiyoomi’s ever touched before. He keeps his hand still as the ray’s body nudges the tips of his fingers. When it finally swims away, Kiyoomi pulls his hand out and hurriedly shuffles back to the sink.

He tries to not dwell on the feeling of Atsumu’s fingers wrapped around his.

When they leave the aquarium, the sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, casting a blinding glare on the surface of Osaka Bay. Atsumu leads them to Naniwa Kuishinbo Yokocho, an indoor food court modeled after a retro street market. The inside is dim and bathed in the warm glow of the red lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Close to twenty tightly packed stalls line the inside of the space, each serving their own Osaka specialties.

Atsumu suggests sharing small plates so they can sample from a variety of the stalls. They end up going to four places and picking out one to two dishes from each one. Once they sit down with all of their orders assembled, they work together to arrange the plates for Kiyoomi’s picture.

It’s nearly eight by the time they’re done eating, and the nearby Tempozan Ferris wheel, which had appeared less impressive during the day, now stands out in stark contrast against the dark night sky, a giant ring of flashing rainbow lights towering above everything around it.

“Wanna go on?” Atsumu asks. “I bet you’ll be able t’ get real nice pictures from up there.”

Kiyoomi nods.

As they wait for the Ferris wheel to complete its current revolution, he tries to not think about all the couples surrounding them in line. Once they’re inside the pod and the door closes, it’s eerily quiet, save for the occasional squeak as the Ferris wheel turns. Kiyoomi fiddles with his phone in his lap, unlocking it and then locking it. He looks up at Atsumu, not expecting for their eyes to meet. Atsumu’s lips curl up into a gentle smile and it makes something stir in Kiyoomi’s chest. He takes a breath and swallows nervously.

“Miya, is this—have we been going on dates?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen ever so slightly and he turns his attention to the view outside as they slowly make their way up. His eyes zero in on a random building in the distance as he takes a moment to form his thoughts into words.

“I never really thought of ‘em as dates,” Atsumu eventually says, and Kiyoomi’s stomach sinks.

“But I think that’s because hangin’ out with ya feels so natural,” he continues. “I wasn’t really thinkin’ about whether to call ‘em dates. All I know is that I really like bein’ with ya, Omi-kun. I guess they were dates, now that I think about it. Even Samu was teasin’ me about it the other day.”

Kiyoomi mulls over Atsumu’s surprisingly profound words. He thinks back to when he and Hinata got meat buns after practice last week. That wasn’t a date, right? Hinata’s with Kageyama after all. What if Hinata had been single? What if he had gotten buns with Atsumu instead? Would that have made it a date? Kiyoomi feels like his head is about to implode.

_All I know is that I really like bein’ with ya, Omi-kun._

An inexplicable urge takes over, a burning need to close the distance between them, and Kiyoomi’s body moves out of its own accord as he sits up and shifts over to the other side of the pod to sit next to Atsumu.

“Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi turns to face Atsumu and wraps his arms around him. He panics when he feels Atsumu stiffen against him, wondering if he’s overstepped his boundaries. Ironic, considering the effort Kiyoomi puts into avoiding prolonged physical contact with most people. He should probably let go if he’s making Atsumu uncomfortable, he vaguely thinks.

But then Atsumu’s arms curl around his back and pull him in tightly, as close as they can get in a seated hug, and Kiyoomi rests his head against Atsumu’s shoulder. He nuzzles the side of Atsumu’s neck and breathes in his scent. Atsumu doesn’t stink, but they’ve been out all day, so he’s not exactly squeaky clean either. Kiyoomi can detect the slightest whiff of something woodsy—aftershave, maybe—but he mostly just smells… Atsumu.

Kiyoomi’s never been good with words. Words were a way of putting yourself out there, reaching out to people and building connections, responding to others and opening yourself up to responses. Words were a way of solidifying abstract feelings, allowing you to take your innermost thoughts and convey them to listening ears.

Kiyoomi’s never been good with words, because the idea of exposing himself like that terrified him to his core. It was a flaw of his that he had come to accept; he had never met anyone worth baring himself to—until now. Now, he’s kicking himself for his inability to shape the jumble of emotions swirling within him into some semblance of a tangible form.

So he says the only thing that comes to mind—the only thing that matters.

“Atsumu,” he breathes. “ _Atsumu—_ ”

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu murmurs against his ear. “‘m so in love with ya, Kiyoomi, you have no idea.”

Kiyoomi pulls apart from their embrace and the cynical part of him can’t help but search Atsumu’s eyes for signs of deceit or uncertainty. He finds none—just warm, brown eyes gazing back at him with unwavering adoration.

He leans in and gently presses his lips to Atsumu’s once, then twice. He goes in for a third kiss, when he feels a breathy huff against his lips.

“What is it?” Kiyoomi grumbles.

“Sorry, Omi-kun,” Atsumu giggles, kissing his cheek in apology. “I just—I can’t believe we’re doin’ this on a Ferris wheel. Talk about cliche.”

“Motoya’s not going to be thrilled when he finds out,” Kiyoomi laughs dryly. 

Atsumu’s eyes widen suddenly and he whips his head to the side.

“We’re almost at the top!” he gasps.

 _Ah_. Kiyoomi had nearly forgotten about the view outside. He peers through the glass on his side of the pod. It’s nice enough, as nighttime cityscapes go, but it’s not vastly different from what he’s seen in Tokyo. He hastily snaps a picture and turns his attention back to Atsumu. The lights from the Ferris wheel make his hair look rainbow instead of blond, and without thinking, Kiyoomi raises his phone and snaps a candid of Atsumu gazing out the window.

He much prefers this view.

As if he could read Kiyoomi’s mind, Atsumu leans in and kisses his forehead.

“Yer my favorite view, Kiyoomi.”

“Disgusting,” he returns with a smile.

They walk back to the train station in comfortable silence, holding hands for the second time that day. As they approach the entrance, Kiyoomi’s footsteps gradually slow to a stop. They’re heading in the same direction, so they don’t have to part just yet, not until they have to transfer to different lines. Still, Kiyoomi’s not ready for his night with Atsumu to end.

“What’s wrong?”

“Atsumu,” he murmurs. “Do you… Do you want to stay over?”

“How bold of ya, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says teasingly. “If you don’t mind me intrudin’.”

“I literally invited you,” Kiyoomi snorts. “You’re not intruding if I want you there.”

“Lead the way then.”

On the way from the train station to Kiyoomi’s apartment, the cozy yellow glow of a small bakery catches Atsumu’s eye. Half of their lights are dimmed, and one of the two employees is sweeping the front. Atsumu quickly glances at the time on his phone—8:58—and then the sign on their door that lists their business hours as 9 AM to 9 PM. He lets go of Kiyoomi’s hand to shove the glass door open, violently jostling the attached bell and startling the employees.

“D’you still have cake!?” Atsumu’s words come out in a rush. “It’s my boyfriend’s birthday—well technically it was yesterday—and I need t’ buy him a cake!”

 _Boyfriend_. Heat floods into Kiyoomi’s face and spreads to the tips of his ears. He’s equal parts giddy and mortified and he needs the ground to swallow him up this instant. He’s always passed by the bakery on his way to the station, but this is the first time he’s ever stepped foot inside—and likely the last.

His eyes flicker over to their near empty glass display case. There are a handful of small tarts and cake slices, but not a single whole cake. He’s about to tell Atsumu that _it’s fine_ and they should really get going and let the employees close the shop in peace, but then the woman sweeping the floor vaguely gestures to the man behind the counter and he disappears into the back.

“I think we may have somethin’ in the back,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.

The man returns with a small layered cake, coated in a smooth layer of white frosting and topped with delicate spirals of citrus peel.

“How’s a yuzu matcha cake sound?”

“I _knew_ yer apartment was bare,” is the first thing out of Atsumu’s mouth when he steps into the entryway.

“I didn’t invite you over to criticize my interior design choices,” Kiyoomi returns good naturedly. “Unlike you I’ve only been living here for a few months.”

Atsumu sets the cake box on the table and then follows Kiyoomi to the kitchen to wash his hands. Without Kiyoomi having to ask him.

He plants a feather light kiss on Atsumu’s cheekbone.

“What was that for?” Atsumu giggles. “Sap.”

Despite Kiyoomi’s protests at the bakery, Atsumu had gotten them to write “Happy Birthday Kiyoomi” on the cake in elegant cursive. Great, they know his name—now he really can’t go back there. Atsumu opens the box and carefully slides the cake out. He takes the candles—which they had thrown in for free—and begins sticking them into the cake. Finally, he takes the pack of matches that had been taped to the candles and lights them one by one.

“Happy belated birthday, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says, his smile as warm as the glow of the candles.

Kiyoomi swallows around the lump in his throat. He’s thankful that his mother and sister came all the way out to see him for his birthday, even if most of their time was spent going to places they wanted. He probably wouldn’t have had anything planned on his birthday otherwise. Before his sister texted him about their plans to visit, he had been fully expecting this year to be his first time spending his birthday alone and away from home.

Now he’s gotten two birthday celebrations instead of zero, and it almost feels too good to be true.

“C’mon, make a wish before the wax gets all over the cake,” Atsumu prods.

Kiyoomi closes his eyes briefly before opening them and gently blows out the candles.

“So what’d ya wish for?”

“Nothing.”

“What!? Yer no fun.”

Atsumu is an absolute disaster to share a bed with, Kiyoomi discovers later that night. His limbs are sprawled all over the place and he can never seem to stay still, constantly shifting and twitching and murmuring indistinct noises. Fortunately he doesn’t snore, but he is a mouth breather, which is only marginally better in Kiyoomi’s book.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kiyoomi awakens with a groan to the chiming of his phone’s alarm. He blindly pats his nightstand to locate his phone, and once he does, he taps on the ‘Stop’ button to silence the incessant chiming.

“Wha time izzit?” Atsumu rasps.

“Six forty-five.”

“Six forty-five!?” Atsumu blinks blearily and takes a moment to clear the sleepy haze from his brain. “Omi-kun, dontcha live like fifteen minutes away from the trainin’ center?”

“Fifteen minutes by foot, five to seven by bus.”

“Practice is at nine thirty. Why on earth d’you need to be up this early!? My place is farther and I don’t even get up this early.”

“I like giving myself more time than I need so I don’t have to rush,” Kiyoomi answers simply.

“Ugh, let’s go back t’ sleep,” Atsumu mumbles. “We can get another hour at least.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes trail down the expanse of Atsumu’s body and linger on his half-hard morning wood. He slides back under the covers and curls an arm around Atsumu’s waist.

“I have a better idea,” Kiyoomi murmurs against Atsumu’s lips, his hand toying with the waistband of Atsumu’s borrowed boxers.

They take the bus to practice.

The entire team is certain there’s something going on between Atsumu and Kiyoomi. Meian is immediately onto them when they arrive at practice—together. They banter like usual, Atsumu with his playful jabs and Kiyoomi with his dry remarks, but Meian’s ears perk up when he hears ‘Atsumu’ instead of ‘Miya.’ Meian looks around at the other guys to see if they noticed it too or if his ears had been playing tricks on him.

He clears his throat awkwardly.

“So Sakusa,” he says, trying to sound natural. “How was yer off day? Didn’t see ya post anythin’ on Instagram all weekend.”

“It was good,” Kiyoomi replies. “Atsumu and I went to the aquarium.”

 _Aha_.

When Atsumu pulls off his shirt to change into his dry fit, Inunaki’s sharp eyes fixate on the questionable bruise at the base of Atsumu’s neck. His eyes dart back and forth between Kiyoomi and Atsumu. _Sakusa? No. Would he?_ _No…_ Inunaki spends the rest of practice unsuccessfully trying to erase the mental image of Kiyoomi sucking on Atsumu’s neck.

Even Hinata and Bokuto are getting suspicious, and they’re usually the last ones to pick up on these things. They all follow Kiyoomi on Instagram; most of them notice how Atsumu is the only person Kiyoomi regularly tags. It’s rarely two consecutive posts—Kiyoomi intentionally spaces them out—but eventually after two or three, he uploads a picture of his and Atsumu’s latest venture and tags him without fail.

To everyone’s surprise, it’s Kiyoomi who is noticeably more affected. For once he offers more than just one-word responses and actually manages to hold conversations. He starts talking about himself more, shares tips he learned from playing in college. He’s even able to calmly talk Bokuto out of his dejected mode one day. They discover Kiyoomi’s sarcastic, witty sense of humor and learn to crack jokes with him so they can get shut down by one of his deadpan one-liners. He’s less guarded and softer and doesn’t hide behind his mask as often.

When Kiyoomi fist bumps the guys after a win against the Hornets, Meian smiles to himself like a proud father. Whatever Kiyoomi and Atsumu have going on, it seems to be working wonders. At this point, the team is about 75% sure that they’re dating, but somehow they never actually catch the two of them doing anything explicitly romantic.

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says. “Y’know the team’s been tryin’ t’ guess if we’re datin’, right?”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi laughs. “Bokuto’s always leaving his phone lying around unlocked. They made a group chat without us in it.”

“Should we tell ‘em?”

“I have a better idea.” Kiyoomi pulls out his phone and switches the camera to selfie mode.

He posts the picture of him and Atsumu kissing, noses pressed together. No caption needed.

**Author's Note:**

> [fic post on twitter](https://twitter.com/ichig0day/status/1373298490437083143?s=20) (now with added reference pics!)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ichig0day) / [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/ichig0day)
> 
> yes i know the cheese dog pic doesn’t have bubble tea. just pretend that it does :)))
> 
> kudos & comments appreciated as always! thanks for reading💗


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